Series Q10

First actual mix in a long time, hope you guys enjoy. This is my first mix with 99.9% Original -Ū. music only with the exception of the intro for dramatic effect. Hope you guys enjoy it. Thanks for listening.

Here's a screenplay of enter the multiverse to coincide with the commemoration of the SNL 50's anniversary/ L E G E N D S crossover.

Fun Fact: The First appearence of Liz Lemon in this show {Enter The Multiverse} is in season one, which first aired in May of 2021.

The 1st and subsequent seasons will soon be avalible for reading and listening on my website https://www.iamu.guru. Enjoy this mix and the avaliable downloads you'll find there and stay tuned for upcoming stuff. Just a reminder, all of my content is totally free for download. If you enjoy this series, drop a like and subscribe and follow on your favorite streaming platforms and all of my channels.

Thanks for your continued support and listens/reads. Happy Passover; blessings and peace to you.

-blu.

INT. ALIEN SPACESHIP - DAY

The cramped, metallic interior of an alien spacecraft. Two bizarre, multi-limbed ALIENS are locked in a furious argument. The sounds are not words, but a cacophony of distorted electronic noises.

ALIEN 1

(A series of rapid, high-pitched BLIPS and WHIRS)

ALIEN 2

(A deep, guttural GROWL followed by a drawn-out, wavering TONE)

ALIEN 1

BLIM-BLIM-BLIM-BLIM— FLAU—FLAU—FLAU!

ALIEN 2

—————EeeeeEeeeeeEEEEEEEEENNMMMMMMMMMNGGGGGGGGG!!!

ALIEN 1

Wfuh!

Alien 2 makes a highly offensive hand gesture. Alien 1 responds with a highly offensive gesture using another body part.

Suddenly, RACHEL DRATCH, dressed impeccably and radiating an air of cool detachment, enters the scene and calmly observes the arguing aliens.

RACHEL DRATCH

(To herself, almost a whisper)

Well, this is… something.

CUT TO:

INT. ROCKEFELLER PLAZA - SUNNI BLU'S OFFICE - DAY

SUNNI BLU, sharp and impeccably dressed, stares with wide eyes at a ridiculously large ELECTRICITY BILL. Sunlight streams through the massive windows overlooking Rockefeller Plaza.

SUNNI BLU

(Muttering)

Since when did keeping the lights on cost this much? Absorbing ConEd was supposed to *save* money.

Suddenly, a disembodied VOICE echoes in the room.

VOICE (V.O.)

You will fail this test.

SUNNI BLU

(Startled)

There's a test?! What test?!

VOICE (V.O.)

It came with a lesson— you didn't think there was going to be a test.

CUT TO:

EXT. THE LONELY ISLAND CLIFF - DAY

ANDY (ALEKSI), dressed in surprisingly clean white robes despite the precarious location, stands on the edge of a towering cliff overlooking a vast ocean. He takes a running leap off the edge.

ANDY

—NO…

He plummets downwards for a beat. Then, with a gentle WHOOSH, he lands perfectly upright on the sandy beach below.

ANDY (CONT'D)

I told you I could stick the landing.

ALEKSI (V.O.)

It wasn't always The Lonely Island…

CUT TO:

INT. HEAVENLY WAITING ROOM - DAY

ALEKSI (ANDY SANDBERG), now with subtle, mischievous angelic wings, winks directly at the camera.

ALEKSI

guardian angel.

TINA (O.S.)

Whatever.

Tina FEY, also with small, slightly more exasperated-looking wings, enters. ALEKSI winks extra harder at her.

ALEKSI

Hello.

TINA

Oh my God!

ALEKSI

I wish! At this point, I wish— unfortunately, those aren't the types of wishes I'm in charge of overseeing.

A large, ornate PACKAGE appears unexpectedly at TINA's feet.

TINA (CONT'D)

When something appears unexpectedly at your doorstep, it's called a windfall, right?

ALEKSI

Yeah. I think that's what this is.

TINA

And when it's something you really need, it's a gift from God. Isn't it?

ALEKSI

Something like that.

TINA

Honestly, I thought it was just a gentler way of letting me know I was ugly— after a particularly horrible photo opportunity at the airport.

ALEKSI

—wow.

TINA

I had just been up for 72 plus hours straight and only slept something like 4 or 5–but of course—

FLASHBACK:

INT. AIRPORT SECURITY - EARLY MORNING

A haggard and disheveled TINA sits slumped on a lopsided BEANBAG in the middle of the bustling security line. Bright lights shine in her face as various machines WHIR and BEEP, scanning her.

TINA (V.O.)

This was staggered sleep from atop a lopsided beanbag.

TINA (Muttering)

Agh, God!

TINA (V.O.)

I've been getting used to having lights shined in my face for awhile now. Still, I was not so ready for a full work up of my biometrics in this early morning crusade to Los Angeles.

A stern-faced AGENT approaches her.

AGENT

The Agency thought you were terminally ill.

TINA

Terminally? Geez.

The AGENT clears his throat.

AGENT

Consider this as, ah— Hm. Ojo translates directly to Eye. Doesn't it?

TINA

I see you.

AGENT

Undoubtedly. —an incentives.

TINA

I don't need anymore incentives, Captain. I need income.

AGENT

Oh, I'm the captain now?

TINA

You were always the captain.

AGENT

This is news to me.

TINA

News to the News. That's something new.

AGENT

Nothing is new.

TINA

But it's news to you. Sarcasm. I need a paycheck.

AGENT

Try looking pretty.

TINA

I tried. It didn't work.

AGENT

Try…harder.

TINA (V.O.)

New York had put spots and marks on my faces— a broken blood vessel from fighting some demonized African girl— and I'm sure that was what she was, after all…

FLASHBACK:

INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT

TINA is struggling in a bizarre fight with a shadowy FIGURE. The scene has a surreal, “As Seen On TV” commercial feel.

VOICEOVER (V.O.)

Who tries to kill you, and then does their hair to be more like yours? That's major weird.

TINA

Major Tom.

SHADOWY FIGURE

Yeah.

TINA (V.O.)

Then again, since moving to New York… Oh, Holy shit. Everything is major weird.

A shimmering PORTAL opens in the middle of the apartment.

TITLE CARD: AS SEEN ON TV: PART III

TINA

(Staring at the portal)

Where the fuck is part one and two?!

SHADOWY FIGURE

Maybe it starts at three!

TINA

Nothing “starts at three”

SHADOWY FIGURE

Maybe it's like Star Wars!

TINA

It's not like Star Wars!

A CATACLYSMIC SPACESHIP COLLISION and EXPLOSION sound effect.

TINA (CONT'D)

…it's not like Star Wars.

SHADOWY FIGURE

Uh huh. It's better than star wars.

A giant collective GASP is heard.

TINA

-_-

*the world stops*

TINA (CONT'D)

-_-

Suddenly, all sound ceases.

TINA (CONT'D)

Woah. That's different.

SHADOWY FIGURE

There: I fixed overpopulation.

TINA

But—

SHADOWY FIGURE

But what? I fixed it.

TINA

But— weren't some of those fans, also fans of this show.

SHADOWY FIGURE

Yeah, so?

TINA

Like an overwhelming majority.

SHADOWY FIGURE

Majority? Yeah— they're— These are nerds.

TINA

Fuck. Right. So where did you send them?!

SHADOWY FIGURE

Uh. Only to heaven.

TINA

What does that mean.

SHADOWY FIGURE

Heaven for any Star Wars fan—

TINA

Where is that.

SHADOWY FIGURE

The world where all of that stuff— is real.

TINA

What—what do you mean by that.

SHADOWY FIGURE

I sent them to Star World.

TINA

That sounds so fucking gay.

SHADOWY FIGURE

Cause it is.

TINA

Fuck. Oh, that's right— Non-star wars fans are sometimes Cynics Read: Major fucking assholes. I guess I fall into that category, eh— a little bit?

SHADOWY FIGURE

No duh.

TINA

“No duh.” What part of the nineties was your heyday?

SHADOWY FIGURE

All of them.

TINA

Jesus, Tina. You might be ancient.

SHADOWY FIGURE

I'm dust.

TINA

Hey— What. Why are you my assistant now.

SHADOWY FIGURE

Assistant? No. I'm your executive producer.

TINA

ExeCUTEive producer— you do put the cute in that.

SHADOWY FIGURE

(Not being cute, unamused, but still very cute)

Ugh. Fine. SUDAKIS.

JASON SUDAKIS appears

CONT'D.

And nobody cares, of course

Because she is formerly gorgeous

(Not no more)

I'm standing on four paws

I'm studying your laws

If this was your office

I'm your boss

And I caught you taking your clothes off

You're boring,

I started to doze off

Don't call me no more, hoe

So now your broke

You started a war slamming doors

Because you can't find no more work

Hoe

Karen and Becky are probably blessings

Cause they do not get me

But I'm doing better and yet

They are starting to sweat cause

I'm starting to flex

They're slamming the door

They're starting a war

They never been homeless before

Or hungry and poor

But no peace of mind? It's fine

I'll probably find in time

That they crossed the line

And get left behind

The red dots are trying

To plot

I'm crying a lot,

I'm out of the box, jack

I spring up but I do not pop

I'm talking to God,

He's telling you off,

I'm calling him “her”,

She's telling me

“Sure, I'm not really sure,

But I got the cure for your disease

The God of Mercy, Mercy Me

I got my first Mercedes in 1993

Look at me.

CUT TO:

INT. BACKSTAGE - NIGHT

A very tall, redheaded SHOWMAN (CONAN O'BRIEN, though slightly off) has just finished a days-long BENDER. He is not the polished figure America knows. He shakily lines up a mysterious white substance on a grimy surface.

CONAN

(Muttering)

Just… need… a little… pick-me-up.

A mysterious FIGURE appears silently behind him.

FIGURE

Feeling better, Conan?

Conan looks up, bleary-eyed, barely lifting his head.

CONAN

(Slurring)

I don't know what you're saying.

CONAN (V.O.)

Apparently, that was the line, and I felt like I was crossing into a strange territory with this, one Conan O'Brien, and almost absolutely certain I was spelling his name wrong, but continued to do so anyway— one, because I refused to look him up, and two— because if ever I entered into a plot hole deep enough the mechanics of my own knowledge of hyper and multidimensional space travels to explain, then having a Conan O'Brien and a Conan O'Brian might become useful. Today, I want useful, because I wanted to go back to sleep with enough energy to still wake up with enough energy to run a mile on the full sized treadmill downstairs. Then, I had day-people things to do— and for whatever reason, this seemed like one of them. It was a welcome deviation from—

A boisterous, red-faced MAN stumbles into the room.

MAN

O'Fallon, you old coot!

CONAN

(Confused)

Oh year.

MAN

I told you the Irish were coming. *the fighting Irish.

CONAN

Ah yes, the fighting Irish—

CONAN (V.O.)

Apparently, this was some centuries long kind of battle between ancient clans//and so, I did my very best o find my way out of it, until

A fierce, heavily tattooed WOMAN bursts in.

WOMAN

MUNROE!!!!!

(V.O.)

—i was found out. My surname was Scottish, but nonetheless, it was a fied older than borders were, anyway.

CUT TO:

EXT. MUSIC FESTIVAL - DAY

A chaotic, vibrant music festival. ANDY (ALEKSI) approaches a gruff-looking SECURITY GUARD.

ANDY

Yo.

SECURITY GUARD

What's good.

ANDY

What's your deal with the KKK, anyway?

SECURITY GUARD

(Scoffs)

I like them. They're funny.

ANDY

They— want to kill you.

SECURITY GUARD

That doesn't make them any less funny. In fact, now they might be more funny.

ANDY

Are you serious?

SECURITY GUARD

No, I'm funny. I like them blonde, Tall, dark skinned, Woah, scratch that.

Narrow down my picks I like them Icelandic And Slavic

Oh dear I like them impossible to topple over, No, God— Nevermind;

I like them whiter than light snow on a cold night There you go I like them strong—

But only in thought forms Keyboard warrior,

But I'd like to get her in a choke hold So she'll stop snoring

Oh God

No Lord— I should win an award for this song

I should win an award for this song

I should win an award for this song

MORGAN FREEMAN (V.O.)

ANOTHER nomination.

ANDY

No way. This is crazy.

ANDY spots SUNNI BLU in the crowd, looking stressed.

ANDY (CONT'D)

SUNNI, Do you have the academy on your payroll?

SUNNI BLU

(Shouting over the music)

Ask the accountant?

A stereotypical SUPER JEW ACCOUNTANT, complete with a large yarmulke and clutching a ledger, scurries past.

SUPER JEW ACCOUNTANT

actually, surprisingly, I think you're on theirs! See!

SUNNI BLU

Seriously?!! That's not anti semitic at all.

(It's not, it's pro-semitic)

More Jews and Rosecurucians

More Jews and Rosicrucians!

I took a bite out of you, And now I want my life back!

Sharks.

(And surfboards)

More news and prosecutions

More blues and resurrections

More impossible erections Interject—

—I should probably call a doctor. It's been way more than four hours.

I have way more than four houses— I've way more than four flowers,

I've way more than four dollars—

I've way more than four collars with sparkles on them.

I wear cargo pants for the ride home though.

No homo.

CUT TO:

INT. HEADQUARTERS INTERROGATION ROOM - DAY

CC (NATALIE PORTMAN, though not explicitly stated) enters the stark interrogation room. A MAN sits at a metal table, wrists chained. CC sits down opposite him, calm and composed.

MAN

I… am a trained assassin.

CC

That's— impressive.

MAN

There are people who want to murder you.

CC

Now I'm impressed with myself.

MAN

Is that so.

CC

Yes! Ah. Delighted, actually.

MAN

Who are you?

CC

“A charismatic number” writes the New York Times review of my most recently cherished endeavor.

Which means for once in your life you might have actually been on time.

Or just late enough, or just early enough, or— you know.

It starts where I get there, or they were just waiting for me anyway. You know. Or you don't.

MAN

I don't.

CC

Then you should have plenty of time for self study between now and your execution.

MAN

Hah! My execution?! That's where this is heading.

CC

What about yours?

MAN

What about it?

CC

Have or haven't you been following along that this is what I've ultimately desired. My suffering ends in peace with knowing that you, too, shall cease to exist.

INT. OBSERVATION ROOM - DAY

Other DETECTIVES watch the interrogation through a one-way mirror, their faces grim.

DETECTIVE 1

What could possibly be going on in there?

DETECTIVE 2

Anything.

DETECTIVE 3

I wonder what she's saying.

DETECTIVE 1

Anything.

DETECTIVE 2

Looks like she has him cornered.

DETECTIVE 3

Maybe.

DETECTIVE 1

Jesus, can you speak in anything more than one word sentences.

DETECTIVE 2

No.

BACK IN THE INTERROGATION ROOM, a heavy silence hangs in the air.

MAN

…Natalie?

CC

You wanted “CC” so I'm “CC”

The MAN strains against his restraints.

MAN

Who who's this?!

CC (V.O.)

Suddenly my love affair with words and art and theatrical thoroughfare was coming to an end. This was something of a disaster set against the backdrop of a really real world— a world that seemed not to want me in it.

CUT TO:

EXT. NEW YORK CITY STREET - DAY

LIZ LEMON (TINA FEY) walks down a crowded street, furiously dialing her cellphone.

LIZ LEMON

(Into phone, angry)

Hello?

CUT TO:

EXT. MARDI GRAS PARADE - NEW ORLEANS - DAY

TRACY JORDAN (also TINA FEY, in elaborate Mardi Gras attire) is on a vibrant parade float, throwing beads to the cheering crowd. His phone rings.

TRACY JORDAN

(Into phone, jovial)

WHERE ARE YOU?! I'm on my way to the parade!

LIZ LEMON (O.S.)

I'm AT the parade! Where are YOU?

TRACY JORDAN

Not that parade! Mardi Gras!

LIZ LEMON (O.S.)

MARDI GRAS?!

TRACY JORDAN

Yeah!

LIZ LEMON (O.S.)

WHY?! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON A FLOAT— In NEW YORK CITY— In 22 MINUTES.

TRACY JORDAN

Don't worry, I'll be there.

LIZ LEMON (O.S.)

YOU'LL BE THERE?! You're at a parade! In New Orleans!

TRACY JORDAN

It's Mardi Gras!

LIZ LEMON (O.S.)

I KNOW ITS—

Tracy hangs up. He grins at the crowd and throws more beads.

FADE OUT.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2025 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Did I forget Steve Allen?

I don't know, but I definitely almost forgot Sephen Colbert.

WHY!

Because I can't decipher who you are from the other four of you!

There's three of us.

Where's number four?!

{Enter The Multiverse}

Suddenly, not every day was the same—and that was strange, as it seemed the entire year had just been residuals of the same day over and over—but these days we're distinctly different, and perhaps that's because without knowing what I was going to write, things were kept interesting, and even more interesting was what I was writing at all.

Music: but was it comfortable? I had put out a single a day which by now amounted to an album all put together, and I might have thought to put it out as a compilation toward the end of it all, but I hadn't gotten that far yet; I was still in the proc de of an actual album, though more complex in reasoning and context—the concept was struggling to come to the surface. It had, after all, been in the realization that a prefixed muse has been envisioned somewhere in the sands of time, that painting of melting clocks merging together into some desert scraped sandstorm, something of illusion and something like a half imagined oasi…a hallucinated woman who might have been me, but actually beautiful—perfect, actually, draped in pearls and diamonds, dripping in them—leading this lost and wandering man—a beautiful man, also, to an oasis. Was the oasis real? I wasn't sure yet, and after the first track Mirage, I was behind by 4 days on what was supposed to have been whatever tracks followed, the list of them now stuck in wax to the base of the candle at the altar, still burning— a black candle for protection , of course—a strong reminder I should keep moving until whatever things and creatures had seemingly been sent after me could not find me, any longer—and however thought it might have been the case, even if just a seed as planted into my mind — it seems at least that one negative had turned positive, in the very least.

The woman whom I had shared a room with just the year before— who seemed to be something like demonically possessed and had also just rather disappeared without a trace—left behind just a bit more than her sunglasses. Since I had thought it better safe than sorry to record everything just in case I continued to be attacked, (having been literally pounced on already twice by other roommate)s—a beautiful soundscape emerged from having been cursed out, a rant which had become increasingly hilarious over time, and of course, remembering Ms. Keisha more fondly than not, especially having left her sunglasses behind.

Besides, after having by grown up with my mother, even the meanest people sometimes seemed mild by comparison in remembrance of her sometimes bitter and absolute cruelty. It's hard to have imagined that I had grown up under those conditions—and though now understanding that how some others had grown up in roach and rat infested housing projects, and however clean, mostly orderly, and overall class wise my mother was, on her worst days she had been horrible, especially for a child or adolescent to have dealt with alone, and so Ms. Keisha, though at most times, an irritant, had become a buried treasure, as I sifted through the mounds of recordings in order to create something unique, and different. After tipping off the copyright sensors not once, but twice—once having submitted a completely self composed work and still somehow being flagged by the system as copyrighted material, my music became more bizzare and strange, not just bending rules, but completely breaking them.

—Tales of a superstar DJ.

LINDSAY LOHAN is sleeping FACE DOWN on the couch in SunnÏ Blū's Studio

Lindsay, wake up.

Mmfh.

[Does not wake up. At all.]

Lindsay.

Mmf.

Tequila.

[Suddenly very awake, in fact; she has suddenly perked up with an amazing glow. ]

*very serious knocks on the door*

Oh shit.

[suddenly, more drunk again]

–oh shit.

*three more knocks*

Where's the tequila?

SUNNÏ

Ah, shit.

Is that your lawyer, or your manager?

Shit, maybe both.

SUNNI. OPEN THE DOOR .

–Might even be my agent, too.

OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR.

(Both, in cheesy unison, tiny rock concert}

I CHIMED IN WITH A

HAVENT YOU PEOPLE EVER HEARD OF

[Sunni opens the door.

No, it's “closing the door–

not “open the door”

“The Goddamn door.”

Right, Goddamit.

–where's the tequila.

Where it is– [Sunni points in a wayward direction; Lindsay stumbles morning-aftery into the booth.

Eww–”morning aftery”

Not like that.

*addendum*

[That Is, just to say that this scene takes place in the afterdays haze of a very

–Very

Holy Shit , God.

What.

You rule.

[Lindsay enters the booth and uncaps a bottle of tequila so effing fancy, it hurts to look at.]

So fucking fancy.

Was that lindsay lohan?

Yeah it is. It's still lindsay logan, Morgen–

–It's ‘Morgan”

–She's just over there now. Not was

How are you even friends.

FLASHBACK

‘ I don't want to be the reason,

I could never know you—

And I don't want to be the reason

I could never love you'

‘Weird dreams, bro.'

I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing; I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head. it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead.

Apparently we were sisters—same father, different mother; waking up, though, was silly and sounded bizzare— but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?'

I didn't ask flat out.

In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chalked up to be; upset and furious— though not irate, and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, however, I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, and that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused, stating that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped—

“That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?”

It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head.

Lol.

Her response to the comment about the appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated (pissed, drunk) she goes

“Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!”

Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle.

“Okay…”

I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the fact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me—

Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it.

It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl Project's Enter The Multiverse collection —which I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading.

Of courses

I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i exercised at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after Au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though…

in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food,

Then on the music.

—Tales of a superstar DJ.

lol what happened to Lindsay?

Idk.

I could practically taste the tequila.

Well, I was the one pouring it.

Way to enable.

I was just trying to calm her down.

Did it work?

Eventually I guess.

lol what happened to Lindsay?

Idk.

I could practically taste the tequila.

Well, I was the one pouring it.

Way to enable.

I was just trying to calm her down.

Did it work?

Eventually I guess.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

The Complex Collective. ©

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019 | 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Now, for a moment—

Do me a favor and imagine for a second—

Just for a second,

That someone,

Anyone—

Who?

Haha

Shut up.

Had read your writing

What writing.

Any of it.

Ok…

—before you arrived at Rockerfeller Plaza.

…which time.

Any time.

Oh.

That's right…I had been writing for years before I ever even stepped foot inside The Rock, even one time.

THE ROCK

Let's just say “30 Rock”

But is it technically like

24-58 Rockerfeller Plaza.

RADIO CITY, MANHATTAN, NEW YORK, NEW YORK.

So this is how many radio towers exactly?

All of them.

And how many satellites?

All of them.

And how many antennas.

All of them.

All of them.

All of them—that matter.

Which ones don't matter?

EXT. THE ARCTIC CIRCLE. WHENEVER.

AN IMPORTANT LOOKING BUSINESS MAN IN A SUIT ARRIVES

CUT BACK TO

CUT BACK TO

A GROUP OF ESKIMOS HAVE DISCOVERED A LARGE RADIO TOWER HAS BEEN PLACED IN THE CENTER OF THE TUNDRA.

The antenna begins to blink.

>< >< >< >< ><

CUT BACK TO:

…was that a stupid question?

I had fasted so long that l had begun to see ghosts, spirits dressed as Angeles, and, well…

It was strange to think that this place, wherever weeks of fasting and praying and driving and climbing mountains living out of your car takes you to, was when this revelation occurred to me.

Jimmy Fallon.

I— what?

Jimmy Fallon.

It must have been about four weeks, because, it was by the end of this week that the layout of Los Angeles, California had completely changed and been altered. Nothing was where I left it.

This is the labra tar pits.

[actual tar pits]

Not to mention I had somehow, from atop a perch at Elysian park, also witnessed the construction of Dodgers Stadium—

If my body is here, then where is my mind?

If this is the mind, then where actually is the body?

Simply put, and by the end, nearly everyone and everyone on earth had vanished, besides myself—

Jimmy Fallon.

There was no Jimmy Fallon here—

Just whispers of a name,

Remnance of an idea.

An idea's which might have once been a person,

But now,

Simply wasn't.

It was just one, singular; never having been wasted on anything,

Dollar bill.

FUCK, man, how am I supposed to keep telling this story?!

I don't know.

I'm real pissed off I can't find the scene with the coffee mug.

I'm pretty sure it's hot cocoa.

Whatever.

Cause why would it be coffee?

Why would it not be malt liquor in a fucking coffee mug if we're talking about Jimmy Fallon?

Why would it be malt liquor and not at the very least like a chocolate liqueur with a hint of baileys.

Because we're talking about Jimmy Fallon .

Are you sure he's an alcoholic!?

For the record!

So, just reiterating we'v established here that

The real Jimmy Fallon

The Actual Jimmy Fallon

And

The Regular Jimmy Fallon

Are entirely certainly—

Three seperate guys.

Sure, for the record.

Are you sure he's not.

I hope he's not.

Why!

Cause I like him.

WHY!

Idk. He just keep showing up—randomly, and at very odd moments.

So!

So I got used to him—being around.

Yikes.

Not around—just.

Oh, I get it, he's dead.

He's not dead, he's downstairs.

fuck.

Well, I almost didn't think about it.

No. There is no Jimmy Fallon.

Meat.

Waaaahhhhh???!!?

It's an all meat sandwhich.

What do you mean

It's like an Italian BMT

What.

Without the—

Bread.

Yes, exactly.

It's just meat.

Gross.

No, this is gross.

What.

You told me

No fakies.

You told me to come up with a sandwhich which embodied “The Jimmy Fallon Brand“

And—?!

AND I DID THAT

This is a VEGETARIAN EGG MCMUFFIN.

It's NOT, ITS A JIMMY FALLON—

But you just couldn't connect with that.

Connect the dots.

I gotta get out of town .

So, you mean—

This TV host thing is a full time job.

Pretty much.

Where are the models?!

Whooooo neeeeds models, when you've got

PAGES.

Woah, hoes.

Those are the 2024 NBC pages.

Why are their skirts so short.

I know.

Why… are their shoes so ugly—

To distract from the fact that they're allowed to wear those skirts!

I guess.

You're racist.

No, I'm ugly but—

WHY ARENT THERE ANY BLACK PAGES.

Oh, there are.

Oh yeah?! WHERE.

30 ROCKERFELLER PLAZA. OFFICES. DAY.

Humdala-humdala-humdala-hmmmmmm—

Humdala-humdala—hmmmmm

Goddammit. What is this dude's pre show ritual.

Yo. Give me the keys to the Hellicopter.

No.

Fine. I'll just take the push-to-start.

Ok, I'm coming.

(Eventually, we'll get back to Seth Meyers)

Why is he important.

Cause I—

Let's just be honest,

I don't understand this.

Why.

Ahem.

Why is it that—

No matter where I am,

In the various multidimentional planes,

I am reachable by

Jimmy Fallon.

I don't know.

This has something to do with Jesus, doesn't it?

Don't ask me about my brother. I don't know what he's into—or where he goes when he's not.

Parasailing.

Ah .

Paraphrasing.

Ok.

Parasite.

*ing.

Wait. I am not a parasite.

I'm not taking anything from Jimmy Fallon.

…am I!

what the fuck exactly just happened.

What do you mean.

The…propeller seems to have stopped working.

Yes, it did.

Why are we not free falling rapidly.

Oh, we are.

CUT TO:

A HELLICOPTER FALLING RAPIDLY FROM THE SKY

oh dear GOD—

CUT BACK TO:

A helicopter is suspended in midair, appearing to be frozen.

I'm so fucked. I'm so fucked. I'm so fucked.

I know what you did Fallon.

No you don't!

Sucks to be you! I so do know what you did.

Even if you do—/

And I also did it.

goddammit.

“Suspension of Disbelief”

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!

look, I know how to be super skinny. I'm just not.

WHY.

Cause I like food!

Pretty windows,

Decent teachers—

Learning lessons,

Leaning in and,

Recent intermissions

Admissions to priestes,

And alter boys,

Insence smoke,

And—

I said I'd sign the prenuptial agreements!

What's in the —?

Prenuptual agreements.

…but…you have nothing.

I've always had nothing but, I've never had— him.

What?

Not until now.

That's not a man, that's a God–

(And)

That's not a Dog, that's a friend

Even if this is the end

We're just gonna do it again

(and again, and again)

Tell me;

What did you want?!

Did you get it?

Cause if not, you're gonna!

That's not a watch, it's a gun

(And it's going off!)

Pull the trigger-

You gotta.

Did you want it?

Did you wanna?

Moderation:

Marijuana

I'm not a God.

(I don't wanna)

–But I got all that I wanted

(I put the air in your lungs)

Fuck/

That's not a coincidence, is it?

That's not a coincidence.

(It never it)

Here's another one,

For your records

He's a writer

She's a–

I Liked him better off dead

(He was better off dead)

Pull the trigger–

Pull the trigger!

Well that's a

Whole lotta luggage

Lotta stuff that you bought at the

–I was just onto a

That's not a God,

That's a Goddess

(All locked up in the)

(open the door:)

That's not a God,

It's your mother!

( I wanted it)

I don't want anymore–

I can't write anymore songs

(But I got what I wanted)

That was not a coincidence.

If I look into your eyes, i'll die.

I'm a dead person.

I believe you.

Please don't make that face at me.

It's the only face i've got.

“Oh well”

With a shrug

Is i've ive got on

But there's no nonchaloncé

It's a problem

I don't wanna talk about it.

I don't wanna talk about it.

“In Retrospect, I should have lead with deportation.”

An Ear for Innuendo

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Weeeelllll

This is about to make sense—

Isn't it?

Probably not.

Oh well, roll the tape.

L E G E N D S

what tape?

…

…hello?!

….

HELLO?

Tell me why,

No matter how you mix and match these scenes,

They all make very exciting episodes.

That's just how it is.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Ah. more posters.

Double-Double.

//

L E G E N D S

I don't know who lied to you, buddy, but you are not white.

They lied to you, boy.

That boy ain't white.

Look at em.

He ain't white.

They lied to you.

Something like—

—a bicentennial bullet wound.

It can't be that bad. You're only 50x

I don't know what else to do about this other than prepare to die.

He said it would come on fast after this.

Who was he?

I don't know .

Hm,

Just—shut up!

Okay.

Shutup!

I got it, I got it…

Fuck, this dude is gonna kill me.

We can only hope that's what he plans to do.

Anything else, and I'm double-fucked.

Maybe quite literally.

I can't handle that.

Ii did have a good time a Bohemian Grove.

How do you even get tickets to that?

Early.

Goddammit, how did he do this?

Are you not like self aware of your own environment, or?

Not if I don't have to be, no.

Is everything okay over there?

Yeah, everything's fine?

Fuck, what happened?!

I don't know.

I fell asleep holding nothing; not stones at all, however, I awoke with The Illuminati Stone and one large rose quartz from a dream in which fly po

What if all I lost

Was a contact

And all you wanted

Was a daughter

What if our world's were opposite

I'm a rockstar

You got nowhere to run home to

You're not important

I got nothin but hot bodies

On my tour bus, or private jet

Whatever way we get to the stage

Where i'm playing

You're soaked in rain just thanking God for rainbows

Filled with pain

Plate filled with old food

From Whole Foods,

With no shame

“Hey. at least it's wholesome”

I'm holed up in my studio making music

With famous people and no names

I made famous

Playing a game that I made up

You don't even know the rules of

But if you learn them in time,

YOu might just be where I am

Or

You might just die

From sucicide–

That's the plan

Not like you have family, but you see

If I die

I might just take 5 lives with me

The limelight's tricky

All i got in my inbox is tits

And celebrities on my timeline

You don't mind:

You're just happy to see the sunshine

And find silence after a long day

And a long night

Trying to find life–

Cause so far you know you died

That's wild–

So did I,

IT took awhile to get to the other side though

Keep trying

JAGUAR

I HAVE NEVER DIED.

I'm telling you RIGHT NOW to TURN BACK.

TURN BACK? I've been walking in this direction THE WHOLE TIME.

EXACTLY.

I'm following you.

DON'T FOLLOW ME.

I'm f–

DON'T FOLLOW ME.

I knew i would never see her again.

Once i turned around it wasn't long before I realized, I had moved in the opposite direction, but was not in the same place I had been before–and I finally remembered.

You can't go backward.

But KA, you said time travels in all directions…

In Infinite directions.

What's the difference.

“All” is just ‘some' things. Infinite is everything.

Oh.

*sighs heavily again*

Ok. [beat] lets make fire again!

Make fire again?

Yes!

I thought you hated ‘making fire'

I did, but I like marshmallows.

Alright, marshmallows.

KU and YOUNG KA Flicker in the smoke and shadows of the firelight in a far and distant, dark cosmos, as constellations form around them, expanding outwards into galaxies beyond comprehension.

You want some?

No, I'm not fond of Marshmallows.

Lol

Lol

Lol.

WAKE UP.

Nooh.

I told you NOT TO FALL ASLEEP.

Now you have to start over.

NO.

Noh

I wasn't asleep! I barely nodded off.

Clock starting.

First of all, I told you.

Dillon Francis is a Psychopath.

I know that.

Because i told you that.

I already knew that.

How could you possibly know.

Just look at him.

[Dillon Francis]

But I got you now, buddy.

What did he do to you?

[pause] –He killed my cat.

He killed you cat?!

[beat] Well, no, but–

???

Something Like That.

I'm gonna have a heart attack.

PLease don't.

HeART attack.

Mm. That was good. But it needs more force.

More?

Put some *love* in it.

What's that? *shrugs*

HeART ATTACK.

What the fuck is he doing.

PLaying with one of his alter egos.

Jesus Christ. How many are there.

Who really knows.

What are you two dipshits doing.

NOthing.

Training.

Training!

No.

*eyes*

You can't train yourself.

Woah–

Woah, woah–

That's an insult

Both, exactly the same

We are not the same.

Jinx.

Go fuck yourself.

*looking at watch*

Not until 3.

*everyone stops and stares*

You schedule your jackoff calendar .

I'm very busy.

Obviously not busy enough.

It's called “building stamina”

Do you use “home” or “work” for that.

I use candidly.

Yikes.

Wow.

Anyway, this scene is running long; I gotta walk off screen and say something clever, for continuity.

But it's only 2:15!

If you're not early, you're late!

I hate him.

So does everybody.

If you cry one more time,

I'll actually kill you.

Put the gun away, dude.

Why?!

Cause you're crazy.

It's 5 AM.

Ok.

Take your shit and get off the toilet,

We have shit to do.

[beat]

FLUSH.

Royal flush

I win again.

Dammit.

This is not LOVE. This is just

LUST

AH, fuck it though,

I love these cunsluts.

COME OUT OF RETIREMENT.

No, not us.

I can do nothing but watch you suffer

—suffer the little children unto me

I can do nothing, but watch you suffer.

—suffer the little children unto me

I can do enough, but watch you alter

Suffer the children unto me

I can do nothing of earth, but of sun—

Suffer the children unto me

Riding through Brooklyn

With Yelawolf bumpin

I should be thumping to something else but

I never got the trunk to open

Nope, I was fucked up some

Broke girl summer

Broken girl summer

Surfs up, though

Copestetic,

I am

Don't stop writing

(I tried)

Intuition

I died

Whoever

I am

Exit Bedstuy

So far behind,

I'm ahead

What's that like

Left the pary,

Fuck that line

Partly cloudy with a chance o

Get UP.

Nah, I'm fine.

For the most part—

I just

When does this train stop?

For the most part—

Where the fuck do I get off this ride?

I guess I don't

For the most part

Sure,

I miss my mom but

Some days she's up

And the others

GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.

HOW?!

I will literally FLY you out, just

———————————————-//—-wait, come back.

Wait, you can't just cut the strings like that

That's amazing lady

(She painted like a Mercedes)

The second rule of time travel

Since you're clearly a rule breaker

2. Don't get hit by anything moving not fast enough to kill you

Entirely and completely

A fuck, which Brooklyn is this?

JUST—time TRACWL

BAMANAS.

(William H. Macy is SIR, now)

*face*

Ok, I'm cool with that.

Better hold that thought—

And your phone

Why what's up,

Cause I can hear my train a coming.

JIM(I)

Well, I guess this is it.

Are you sure

Almost

Yeah, I'mmma get this real quick.

I AM A GOD.

No, yur not.

RICK! GET DOWN FROM THERE

WAIT, you CC saw this movie, right?

Where IS your center of balance, anyway?

It's not.

GET DOWN, KITE.

——aaaaand—

ITS GONE.

Let's just be real, I don't know how this happens.

Best keep it that way,

Now whose hot and toxic?

I'm the talk of the catwalk

The cause of the kamikaze

Come for me

Suddenly my nausea's gone

Imma run off,

Like I should have the first time

I'm up

LUKE SKYWALKER

I'm LUKE SKYWALKER.

Bitch.

It's hard to believe

That I, too,

Could be in the window

This could be an innuendo

This could be an instrumental

We should get going

Go to work

Fuck, am I still in a movie or some shit

Or some shit.

Fuck the glasses,

See my face for this

IT WANTS BANANAS

GIVE IT BANANAS

GIVE IT WHAT IT WANTS M

PLEASE HELP ME.

*with a monocle*

*running fingers grubbily*

For how much.

*grimaces-*

Wow, they really picked this little girl out,

Just to pig party you

I know.

So where the fuck is this again?

EXT. HELLS KITCHEN

I DONT THINK HE's a good man

No,

I don't think he's a good man at all, now

All I see's a child,

And that's why

It's just getting wilder it here

Now I'm in the water

(I can't drown)

We all need a savior

How about now?

How about a round of applause

For the audience

That watched the whole performance

And don't know what the words to the song were

Right on.

Tell me why

American girls just

Get too cynical bout this.

Why so hypocritical?

We got A+ in robotics

Now we got

Animal Products in

All of our water

We got Islam R US in

Jansport backpacks

That's how you rat out these assholes

That is a terrorist practice

So who's gonna watch that shit

Over and over

And wish he could have that?

So

Whose in the water now

Once you cheat once,

Then it's all

Void after that

The God of the void is annoyed with you

I just anointed you all with oil

You're so fucking disappointing

It's just

Innapropriate

Well, turn it off, then!

Did you work today?

Guess not,

I'm too useless

We work, you know.

Your music is stupid.

That's how good you look:

Music producer

No words for this.

Here.

What.

I want you to carry this.

Mariah, or Jim?

Got it.

OK.

OK.

OK, YOU WIN.

That's RIGHT,

STUPID BITCH.

I'm o—

Fuck that little dick nigga

Broh God bless Jah Pharoh living up to his last name by reminding me that I also need to run.

True facts.

WHATS IN THE BOOOOOOOOWWLLLLL—

Ing green?

More dead people.

Please, if you would.

Eats—people?!

Onlympurple—ones.

Are you serious!?

CUT TO COMMERCIAL. CUT TO COMMERCIAL.

Ok, damn.

Wait, so how long do I gotta be—

Everybody.

Till it ends.

When's the—

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

What's In the box though?

Idk. Get in.

Blue eyes, it is.

I wish, I wish,

Be careful what you wish for,

Or cook in a Petri dish

The world is a stage,

The people a plague

The magic was gone,

The days were the same.

[The Festival Project ™]

Blonde hair, blue eyes;

Live once, lose twice—

Brown skin, brown eyes

Die inside.

(Or just die.)

{Rewind}

Captain

Captain!

Oh, Good, come in, Cannon.

You've—changed.

…as you know, Monday we disembark.

Yes, I'm aware.

And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us.

Yes.

I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self.

How old are you, anyway?

You should never ask a woman her age, LT.

Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know.

Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately…

Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that.

I'm still very much in the privacy of my office.

You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public.

Never as a woman her age!

You're not a woman; you're my captain.

We'll see about that after tonight.

Being a woman, or being my captain?

Both, probably.

Hm.

By any chance would you be interested in joining me?

As your subordinate, or as a man.

Both, probably.

Or neither… presumably.

As my escort.

I beg your pardon.

I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition.

—er, your condition, captain?

Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind.

[he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.]

Consider it done.

Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour.

Half an hour?

Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early.

We're earning points?

We are now.

Very well then. What am I wearing?

Something sharp.

Sharper than the inside of a half hour.

On your mark.

I'll—see you soon.

He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him.

Sergeant.

Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back.

Oh.

I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage.

Whatever, though. Doesn't matter.

At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture,

TVP

S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer.

DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour.

—

Who's this beautiful sister.

My head writer; don't even think about it.

I dont think. I just do.

Esha approaches— Dash politely bo s and kisses Esha's hand

Should I get tested?

—and funny.

Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with daemon dash, furious Patrick means to interrogate her

Why would you even date that asshole

Because—Pat. He's a comedian.

I'm a comedian! So?

So, he's funny.

And?

And he said things to me—

What kind of things

Charming, funny things—

Okay?

Things he wouldnt say to you over dinner— because, I'm

—you're a woman.

—and your head writer. So naturally.

Esh, you're a genius,

So is he. We have—some new material to work through.

Ahq!

Your monologue tonight.

Oh yes. Oh yes.

You can thank me later. Broken bottles. :9'd one stop her

Walkin walking

God knows I don't belong here

And I don't want to

Passover was April 21-30

Global War on Terrorism

Aka WWIII

Oh, indeed.

Don't look left

Take a deep breath

My heart beats differently

I think it might be the end

I think it might be

I think I might be the enemy

The pushing mechanism

When i breath him in

I levitate

And gravitate to what it meant

The sake of the art,

The hurt of the heart

As sacred as it ever was

The turning or the Torah talks of

Gestures, since the fall of Rome

The toga on the alter

Solid hands unwrap us all

From falling over

Old and awkward

No award for wisdom

No rest for the wiser

No love for the troll

Since thunder struck from under us,

Delivered all but what we wanted

So we talk of karma sutra,

Surely we can't talk at all

Of what we know

As once was bonded

Laughed it off

To come from what

The call to us,

Fair serve governors fortress

I work up in mentions

Carved the scarlet letter out of

Cannons, of course

MA.

WHAT. I'm BUSY.

ITS ON.

The what?

The show we watch!

The one that—

YES,

Oh, my GOD.

Yes.

YESSSSSSSSS.

Usnavi, get your popcorn

This is some worth watching

Up in arms for forwards

Causing sore arms,

Numb thumbs

From crucifixes

Are you wondering what God

Would walk about the horned carving

A kamazake walk of tall corn—

Follow me, dear mantra

Your whole house is watching.

Sacre.

It's happening again isn't it.

I do want ice cream.

All I need is a divorce

And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall

To rub me off at the stroke of

Nevermind what the clock says

In God's house they're all wrong

The blsphomoous for Catholics

Has begun,

So strum your number into the teleprompter

And just hope no one gets hurt

By the hook on the next song

—like the hook of my last surviving bra

digs into my back does,

Or the skin on my lack of tummy

Has rubbed off under the suicide

Of the cycle—

It's getting tighter

A loss of interest is equal to

A loss of conciousness

And I'm 21 days drunk

On the alternate, though—

I'm sober and feeling less

Loved.

The animal I've become is all cardio

And karma sutra

For karma comes

To the weak of heart

To use the world as swords

To cause harm

To the calm artists

I thought I told you off once.

(Already)

You look awful.

lol.

You look terrible, broh.

But my album sound fire.

#producerholes

[portal]

It's coffee time!!

It's not coffee time!

It's not coffee time.

Iiiiits coffee time.

Damn.

Where's the cat.

Gestating.

My phone was never the first thing I reached for in the morning—but I was sure there was something missing in my mind from a place in LA that I used to frequent, that sold giant frosted cookies that were also vegan. There was donut friend, which I always enjoyed and craved—but I was sure—absolutely sure that I was missing a m cookie, and it was absolutely driving me wild that I couldn't think of the place, or find it on Google. Has it been before turning vegan? Was my memory failing me in thinking that the cupcakes and donuts that I had often brought back to the hostel in boxes were timetimes cookies also? It seemed like there were cookies…and I'm sure that there were, as I could remember the thick frosting often being sweet and decadent enough to lick from the top, and that the bottom cookie was sweet and soft, and usually warm—and that I almost always couldn't finish the cookie in one sitting. Had this all been before I went vegan? I was sure I distinctly remembered sitting atop my bunk at The Freehand savoring this cookie, but a google search yeikded no results—none that I could find familiar, and it bothered me so much that I actually decided to start my day just on the tip of figuring out what it was was.

As I crossed through my apartment, realizing I hadn't bothered to throw the trash out after mopping and went m directly to bed early, not with the consideration of rising early but really just out of exhaustion, I had decided that in order to get work done that my workouts would have to be pushed toward the end of my day, somewhere between still having the energy to manage and not being disturbed—as I had seen that girl to at I very specifically didn't like again m, I had realized that again, I was correct— even after an hour of working out, I simply didn't like her energy. There must have been something wrong with her—or incompatible about us altogether; she had come into the gym quietly and was sort of hiding and even still, I had instantly recognized that there was a foreign energy—and squinting to see her, saw that she was crouched on the other side of the gym. I dismounted the stationary bike and figured that an hour of cardio would be enough for the time. Strength training would only force me to crave protein—-and I was running low saving everything that I had in order to better strategize an arrangement which didn't leave me at the bottom of New York's merciless barrel. It seemed I wasn't going to get the job at Equinox after all—it had been nearly a week since my interview with them, and having not heard anything back, I realized that everything, no matter what—was always just a game. I needed to figure out how better to play it before my life ended abruptly on some sort of whim.

Sitting down in the darkened bathroom, I realized that in order to restore and keep my energy, I should be unseen, and unheard.

‘Keep your head down.'

I'm sure there was some type of code or rule for the way I should handle myself in public or even in private all well knowing the types of things I had writtten about, let alone which had been published—and while I planned to clear out what written works had made it into cyberspace unchecked, there was nothing less important to me than the actual world, what it expected of me, or who was in it. I hadn't entirely failed yet, but I also hadn't entirely succeeded, and after a strange series of dreams— almost all of them more interesting than the one with the cookie, (mentioning that the reason I had been curious about the cookie in the first place was from a strange series of dreams)

“Ohhh, you know what—that might have actually been that place in Vegas, before I went vegan.”

The boxes at the freehand must have been all from donut friend and Sprinkles—and it astonished me how much of a sweet tooth I actually had which was sort of now quite well managed. There was no sugar or even salt in the house— and with the lack of food that I actually had in my apartment, for at least something like the next two weeks, I was sure that I'd reach minimum weight—absolutely minimum weight— by the turn of the month. That is, all the weight I could lose betsides what needed to be surgically removed, and there was some sort of plan formulating somewhere outside of myself in exactly how that would be achieved. Because at any rate—I knew that it would.

There were no more cookies, no more donuts, and no more cupcakes, besides the occasional box of the frozen type I had ordered from Amazon fresh which I did thoroughly enjoy, almost always in one sitting after a wild amount of cardio had implemented a faster metabolism and brought me to the realization that so much cardio meant that entirely that I could eat ‘whatever in the fuck I wanted' without gaining any weight or even losing it—and as I stepped up to take a shower, pulling my shirt up and over my chest, I inspected my abdomen, though holding bloat from pinto beans and deep fried sweet potatoes, still toned with the definition lines I had only just now learned that I had, creviced and notations of my sometimes 4 or 6 pack abs, though hidden under the sagging skin of my once maternal belly— still evident at all, and a factor of my minimal pride in that I had gone in one lifetime from one body and into many others— and one day, an even more drastically different one.

I fantasized owning a peloton but realized that I may have to settle on a rental until I had outfitted myself with some sort of safety net.

lol there's a sweet potato emoji. wtf.

I don't know how you did this but—

I woke up.

Apparently, I'm Lorne Michaels.

Please stop.

I don't know what that means.

You know what

If I was pretty

Nobody would hate me for anything

I swear to God only ugly people are punished or any or all of our matings.

I lost the ability to see worth in myself.

I also lost the ability to write good songs.

Just let me watch bad girls club

And wait for the motorcycles

To make my night

A living hell

“I didn't mean for this to happen, Jimmy Fallon. “

It was a whisper, actually— less than that, as I set the stone with the others above the amulet— I placed easch crystal carefully at the alter, keeping only two of them for myself; the rest, as guardians to the amulet. I could no longer keep such a relic around my neck; it had become quite heavy, and the dreams had become deep and more illusive, and it seemed there was some dark spirit along to it after all—and after all— the amulet was my only living son's, anyway, intended as a gift and charm of protection for when I next saw him—whenever that could be, or would be. It had been a long and interesting but altogether uneventful year, and now, not even feeling right in my own self, I intended to continue hiding, and perhaps even burrow further away until I was granted a full and proper divorce; my ex husband using his refusal to sign the papers as a final act of control, and though I almost found it admirable, I only became more dismissive of it—the person I was then, simply was no more; in fact, she was dead enough indeed that to disappear and become a ghost could do no worse than to further alter the course of time and distance it would take to ever become in such a way again—that is, if it were infinite, and for peace of mind and freedom of spirit and soul from bondsge, insisted it wasn't.

It was less than a whisper enough that none other besides God could have heard it, and yet it seemed something or someone had—as a door quickly slammed as the words—words which meant a name I was sure I would never say again—“Jimmy Fallon” left my mouth. I couldn't come close to words at all let alone a name, and especially not a song; but then, of course, there was The Book of Knowlege never to have been spoken and as always, the ever moving truth of songs— There were other Gods that new no words at all besides the melodies and rhythms of our hearts—and there never really was every truly a Jimmy Fallon at all—

Only myself.

Whatever the fuck.

Alright, alright.

It was next in the que with purpose, probably but quite on accident— Now I could continue in my pattern of dulling my brain for the remainder of the night as I had been all day. Since March I had seemed to cry what I thought were the rest of my tears, and however, after a particularly mind numbing day of trash television and Olympic surfing, it seemed the ocean alone was enough to pull from what was left of my soul, and as it turned out, it still was there.

I was bored of the brokenness of New York—something like living in a rotten and spoiled toy, with the limits I had been given—and though I should have been happy, to finally just have my own place— the people surrounding, as always, ruined it—

Them being myself aside. I wished the things outside of me were quieter.

Now I could finally almost put my mind out of focus for just a little bit longer—and creep on Johnny Depp without doing it intentionally. I had stopped looking up famous people, besides some women and businessmen I knew could never feign my interest anyway. It was never about money— and always about creative intelligence; I hadn't seen the movie as an adult, and so I was sure it would have some insight to offer. I tried to forget that I had aged out of almost everything—and that my mother had so greedily destroyed any real chance I had at becoming what I might have been with anybody else as a mother—or at least some one around to watch her raise me and correct her damaging actions, words, and harsh thoughts. At least she had taught me to read and write—and if worst actually came to worse—which it was starting to look like—how to trade my body and time in exchange for things I wanted and needed. All women were nearly prostitutes in some way, anyhow—and the only thing deterring me from it was on every honest God I ever thought of, the fact that white women made more in sex work than colored women did.

— it almost hurt to watch Olympic surfing.

Actually, it did.

It hurt, a lot.

What's a girl

Have you ever had a girl before?

What's world when you're wound up in an orphanage

Probably astounding

I've got a shadow

Sad, should have danced with him

Now he's so mad that

—I don't even touch my guitar

No more

I have words

No songs

The whole world's

At war

And to surf

— you need water

I love

New York

But hate

Thus corner of Brooklyn

I want to go up

Testosterone

—I've got a word for the goner

“Gonzo”

I've got a cannon

Or blonde, for reference

Why were all stalkers

I'll book The Tonight Show,

I'll summon up Carson

A ,

I promise—

A good time was had

—I promise, no subtle obsession.

I made a decision, I went with it

Just a protagonist, actor—

A comic

Producer, by marriage

I swear,

It's just adding up evidence

If ever gets intensities

Offensive, this illumination

— I don't doubt you.

I want chocolate milk

What even is that?

I've been eating healthy

I've got half an album out

And half inside my head

With Donnie Brasco

I've got half a million dollars somewhere

Stuffed inside my cunt, I think

With hallmark cards and shopping carts

I owe them half a fortune

I hate it so much

I watch a whole soul

Come out if television

I love it so much

But I hate the whole public

And crowding

I don't want love

I want fucks

I want puppies

—Jesus he's beautiful

My ex husband had similar facial structure to

Mr Depp respectively,

I'm guessing my artistry,

Intention,

A preteen obsession at least sort of paid off.

Somehow.

Now it's my eyes on the other, the older

—

The way that he sits and does nothing but slump

—Al Pacino, they call him?

The false father and forced profits often acknowledged

The love of the old and weathered.

For once I woke up to a record

33 rotations a minute

{Enter The Multiverse}

—what are you gonna do?

Blondes and shit.

The best of the best—

—I'll tell ya,

I recommend it

(Recommended by a Friend)

I have a headache twice my age.

I made a mistake half my life ago

Woke up this morning

Bought myself a gun

To make it right

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

The Complex Collective. ©

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019 | 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

{Rewind}

XXX. ft Kendrick Lamar (Uptown A Remix)

[Bootleg] Uptown A

The Complex Collective

Original Track: XXX. (DAMN, Kendrick Lamar, 2017)

“The Rescue”

This hearty soup uses tumeric, garlic, and beetroot to help boost the immune system and ward off oncoming attacks.

This is not a simple soup to throw together once you've already come down with a full-on cold or flu, as you may not have the energy to gather the ingredients and for preparation, however— this soup is more meant for helping to boost the immune system in the beginning stages of coming down with a seasonal bug, or as a preventative booster. This recipe's complex blend of vitamins and minerals from greens and root vegetables keeps its ingredients' wholesome nutritional value high by first oven roasting the vegetables in a medley before adding them to the pot rather than boiling them; the prep time for this recipe is about 2 hours, with an additional 1-2 hours of cook time to simmer for flavor and for the raw chickpeas to reach the ideal texture before serving— the blend of herbs and root vegetables will add a layer of immunity and protection against any oncoming disruption to your normal level of health, and is hearty enough to be served alone, or with a side dish of salad or even a half sandwich, if you're feeling up to it.

You will need:

½ medium size had of cauliflower

½ medium to large yellow onion

½ red onion of the same size

½ white onion, per reference

1 whole celery heart

One fresh turmeric root

1-3 beets worth of beet root and leafy greens— you will only use the root for this recipe and can save the beets for later

1 stalk baby boo choy

3-4 medium sized carrots

¼ green bell pepper

⅓ pasilla or Anaheim pepper, per preference (one is milder than the other, but for heavy sinus congestion I suggest the Pasilla pepper, which is a bit spicier and will decongest easily, especially when including some of the seeds into the medley)

⅓ red bell pepper

⅓ yellow bell pepper

⅓ orange bell pepper

½ can stewed tomatoes with onion

½ can stewed tomatoes with garlic

(This is for broth flavor)

One whole vine ripened tomato

5-8 cloves of garlic (per preference)

About 3 tablespoons of fresh ginger root (a thumb tip's worth)

3 cups chickpeas, pre rinsed and soaked overnight

½ cup finely chopped fresh dill

½ cup finely chopped fresh cilantro

¼ cup finely chopped freshoregano

½ lime

½ lemon

Crushed red pepper

Sea salt

Thyme

Black pepper

Part II

Spirit says music was first, then words, and after actions—and then all of time is just acting out the stories that were told in the beginning as art

and…

Something tells me

Something's not all the way right with my head

I'm

Lost in my mind,

I'm

All the way here,

But I'm still

Somewhere off a bit

Velvet, the skin,

I'm just as sick in my head as I ever,

Recovered sex addict, and by definition of nutrition

—this handsome nigga smells like red licorice.

(It's actually cherry ludens with pectin.)

Zeroing in and away, heroing hard

For your heroine,

Heroin veins,

Pigs on the wing,

Singing your song

Hearing your cry out

Fly out my miles, my son

Come into my arms, mine oath

The love, some trouble

Heavy was her heart,

Lied to cover

Still shattered,

Ravine ions, cosmos farm

And Wanda's black eye

Timmy's wishes and

SpongeBob's shallow grave,

Oh, how high I got

That Arnold's lost love

Was actually

Strangely enough

Also his narcissist,

Probably also practicing witchcraft

And exorcisms of him.

Scissorman, Scissorman—

Get a load of this one;

Frog and toad, a couple laughs

Behind the masks,

For this world.

Would you honor?

Give your blessing, butter

Different wages paying,

Listen, shallow author:

You would write but then not follow up

About the actors?

The actors!

The actors have had it.

I'm

Just

As

Badly

Damaged

As

I ever was

And listen, Awesome told me

Your story

I chuckled

All the way

Up until

The literal punchline

Now,

Go home;

Go hike Runyon.

For a few hours, we can pretend.

That old haunts

Don't boil up

They always have, of course

But you know

Nothing quite as pungent as

What's become of yours

[I love my son.]

There it is again,

As if something had called her,

There, more words

But less of them than the tongue could offer

Swear you, listener,

Past this message sits the wilted thumbs of wilderness,

and weary travelers,

Song pigeons and mismatched audience appearances

For pleasantries

And of course,

Dessert trays.

Cause I wear—

—We all know.

If anything happens these days,

It's because I'm a comic.

(At some point)

Sunglasses before the sun's up;

Eat candies before it all melts

Warm something as download comes

To fight or fold,

To win or die

To live or lose

Whatever then

First time flying

And I've got

My mind blinding me out

Deciding for once

That I'm not the whole world

Just to have the experience

If being surrounded by others

In some way.

The runway lights up all blue, and I'm in love with you.

The subway cars opposite collide, I wish I died already.

I should give some time between myself and my writing, I think.

I really shouldn't end things the way I'm thinking of ending things—

But I'm thinking of ending things.

How selfish of me.

First time flying

Sunglasses before the sun comes up

Halls on my tongue

And vitamins in my pocket,

I shuffle over and over in my mind,

The millions of dollars

And all that I go through

Just to skip post,

And go home to no one.

But—hello there

No one's looking over your shoulder quite so hard as

This poster is,

So aware of what's there, and near you

You've begun to fear it

Well, then,

Hands in my pocket and down

Dawn to dusk,

Shaking my head,

Drunkenly, but stone sober

Really no one told me about the poetry,

But a whole world opened,

Inside of your notebook—

Which I stand holding.

Pleasentries, sick dissent,

Indecent exposure.

And body odor this early in the morning;

Gotta love country folk

Supposedly no judgements, but as I grow I older,

The slower toad I become, and discover my bird eye—

Here's to hopes

The Hellicopter is all I know

From here to Hell and back

Westward bound,

The Sun rise behind us

Sunglasses and no sun yet

My eyes reminders of times

I remember

Sure you did, sir

I been there

Suffered the whole coast

And I'm still not sure

You realize you're face down, ass up at an international airport right now.

They say this airport is known for its art installations.

You don't say.

Grandiose to escape the algorithm,

Tapped in with the captains hats

Fit six of my guieapigs in the business

1 transsexual,

And 6 women

3 biracial non-bianaries

Some accused extra terrestrials

You left me home, but —

Nobody washes the whites without me.

It's OWSLA again.

[The Festival Project ™]

It's mid week in midtown

I fell asleep at a business meeting,

Thinking in sequences,

Drinking in increments,

Sweet, sweet music,

Death and television

Television

Celebritism, star power

And no wonder

Early October vacations

From power fortunes tied to us

We want Redbones,

Resonated chambers,

Thankless sacraments of disaster

Are you archived?

Damaged and the flatline

Comes at such a heavy decibel

Your arms grow numb and

Start to stiffen;

No wonder you're not paranoid

Inside of our religion

The Eye

See i,

Excuse me miss—

Did I miss it ?

Plea, I

Give thanks,

Again for

—this is our tradition

Me, I,

Seek I

—-meaning to make sense of it but,

The might,

She died, I guess

The center of my kitchen

Distressed from attention deficit disorder

Sure, Marsh

—Whatever doctor .

He was just the type I like

Milky silky white

Sunglasses

Slicked back hair

Thick round thighs

High fashion—( l)

Sun baked

Pose to take a selfie, right?

Just the type I like;

Milky silky white

There's the girl that'll do anything for ya

But she's no body

With nobody

No good, I

In fact

So ugly l you could choke on just the thought of her

Even with beer goggles on

But she'll do anything you want

And like it—and it doesn't cost

She'll fall in love with you

(For not even a single dollar.)

[The Festival Project ™]

Now that we —

{Enter The Multiverse}

Ahem.

Part III

Day trip

Take a nap

Change the map.

Pet the cat

Let the dog out

Run a lap

Pitty Pat

Pitty Pat

Pitty Pat

Pitty Pat

I Pitty Pat

I Pitty Pat

Broh what up with these Dillon Francis clones tho.

How do you know they're clones?

They can't all be multi dimentionals.

They could!

You never know; they really could.

I run these robots

Into dark corners

Just to honor me

They come scurrying and ugly to annoy and ponder upon me, all the while praying l, my mind on

Don't mind those, they're broke bots

I haven't l l stopped my work to finish

Work on

[The Festival Project ™]

I'm sure by now you've noticed

The only people in

Champion sportswear and

Jansport backpacks

Are ugly, slow,

And weak

L E G E N D S

(I have noticed.)

If attention deficit is forsure your destination

I'm you're designated courier, or carrier pigeon

This isn't ingidgenous reparations or explicit subliminal messages,

But if it is, this is suggestive your direction is correct and attentive

Listen to this shit:

Case dismissed;

Next time I'll fly direct

Hit my line if your eyes are dilated

I'm miles high,

So if it rejects,

Just leave a message

(Eject!)

All of a sudden,

I'm somewhere else

(With him)

He pulls on the rings

On the back of my

—what was I wearing again?

I should have stayed home in the first place

(You don't listen)

I should have stayed home in the first place

(You don't—)

I should have stayed home for awhile

Cause before hand, and I'm wild

Random foreplay,

Orgasm,

Desire you,

You're right, I don't listen.

All of a sudden, I'm gone with you.

Those women in Santa Monica,

All perfect and in hoards and by the handfuls

The type celebrities get

Celebrities need,

Celebrities want—

A shrill reminder

Or what I am,

And can often lose focus,

Drawing back on icons,

Sifting through the skin I feel,

Entrapped by circumstance

And perhaps, even

Some terrible curse, or

A shield of protection.

—the deathly hollows.

It almost felt as if I'd never write again, but here I was

Nearer somehow to a strange fame,

The end of famine

And feast of none—

Doubling back upon

Something I had recorded

In this experience,

Alone and awakened,

Moving in automatic,

Chaos and charismatic,

felt, but never intertwined

In the awesome circumstance

Of wanting, no—

Needing to be loved,

And never having been;

Needing to be touched, and never having felt

The grip of sorts,

The higher bar taste of something I had become famished,

The sense of a calling so sacred,

It beconed to my sea,

The only one,

A diamond in starry skies

A night of dawn,

But dark, the thought

The ever present one,

Never loved,

And shallow kind

Shallow breath,

And putrid thoughts,

Reckoning the wilted flower,

The springing seed,

The calling of another and yet,

Here I was,

Tolerance,

At her mercy—

Fearing none but knowing,

By the handfuls they come,

And drawn like magnets

Into my being,

A focus,

Nonesuch art none otherwise known as

My hell

The bodies of women

Perfect and priveleged,

Sunbathed and worthy

Of everything I wanted and needed

Without working at all.

I wondered harder, fasting.

Soft lips upon his Adam's Apple,

I drift away in his chest,

Dreft, the smell of michielf managed,

Then, the music of songs loved

And garnished with sprouts of June

In the coming of spring,

Does form another,

Again, my love

I call for mercy

The pain of yours needing born

And my heart estranged

Mercy

Her eyes were darkened circles

And body brittle;

As I admired her courtesy, charm

And delicate stature,

Arose to connect this,

A tune—

So sung to tell a story

Of Rocky Racoon

Irish spring to lather his back,

In bar form;

His burgundy Mercedes Benz has had parked in my garage,

And I, not able to trust his drunken judgements,

Captured his keys, as my mother and I

Had worried for him,

Dissappeared again into the night, and yet—

At least the keys and the car

Were safe with me, at home

As was his,

Whenever he wished to return

My strange and far love

Nearly since almost nothing

Screen doors and Fischer Price

Office calls and casting agents,

Honey bees and biopics

Telephoto lenses and

Semi autobiographical pornography

Marriages and suits to match

A name for Vegas wedded lie,

A love bloomed from birth,

Cherished insights in the water

Reservations and yamakas,

Simple and sacred,

The undone village,

The thought of nothing but one

Until another does pull the string

To which I had once known as harness,

But had since cut,

Only watching to strive,

Seeing the dance one makes for one to distance,

But only dangling, seeing not that I

Had come free and was wary of

All love, by now.

All men, indeed.

[The Festival Project.™]

The Complex Collective ©

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

'kalypso'

Collection 2.1 'appearences'

Track 02. 'kalypso'

Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

[Hurrying backstage and hunched over, off screen and out of sight of the audience, this man is clearly on the brink of a nervous breakdown.]

I'm gonna puke I'm gonna vomit.

Hey!

I'm gonna puke, I'm gonna vomit,

I'm gonna hurl.

Hey.

Oh God.

Are you okay?

He stiffens up, standing straight and regaining his composure almost immediately, as if nothing had happened.

Yeah. Everything's fine.

Are you sure?

You're crazy.

This is simple.

Okay.

It's not FAIR.

Nothing is FAIR.

All is fair in love and war!!

Well, this is neither— it's TV.

“Telephoto”

‘Teleform'

And

‘Telesynthesis'

Who here can explain the difference?

A girl leans over from slinking back in her desk to her classmate—they are both wearing sunglasses which seems odd, considering that they are obviously indoors; the lecture hall, as vast as it may be, can seem as such an intimate classroom—the students here have been studying as a class together here for so long that their familiarity with each other is much like that of a large family—however—very large; there are thousands of them, actually, in total, divided by sects into guilder chapters, designated by speciality and type, each having been given specific assignments, relegated by their gifts.

I have to tell you something.

Can it wait?

Probably.

—because she's going to pick on m—

Cecile.

Actually, it's—

(Sighing deflatedly)

(With sarcasm)

Glorious Agony.

She slinks back into her seat, slouching

See.

Your anticipation is distinguished.

…Thank you.

That was at worst a compliment and at best a suggestion to minimize and regulate your frequency as to remain undetectable, if not to be synchronized with the rest of your classmates—thoughtfully so.

Rather thoughtless, actually.

Well think of it— and speaking of such;

Telesynthesis:

Telesynthesis is to adapt one's functional vibration and frequency to match the commonly shared vibration at which the majority of conscious inhabitants in one's immediate field, environment, or space.

And—Teleform

To materialize within any given space the perception of a shared reality within one's given realm and or secondary dimension.

Good.

Thank you, Cecielle.

Actually, it's—

Now—

Moving along.

The teacher again begins to lecture, as the girl once again slowly begins to lean over towards cecil , still frustrated from her interaction with the professor.

Pssssst.

Are you serious?

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 |

THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

My breath is shallow,

My heart is lonely.

The poster shadow

Of many moons forshadoed.

Again, I lie awake, screaming,

Not calling

I'm screening your calls

You want ice cream with that,

Or what.

(Or what)

Probably or what, though

In a nutshell,

I don't want you

I thought your hollow bones

Could swallow us whole

To another,

Long, long gone

Summer.

Sure, the show goes on

—but it won't without you.

For sure,

The show goes on—

But it won't without you

Turn the phone on,

Turn it over

At the airport,

Watching Conan

Oh yeah,

A honey blonde,

Shucks.

Honeysuckle wants only

To become

Sweet, ripe salmon berry

(Don't you want to)

At the airport,

Watching conan

Overhead, I

Overheard a phone call

“What the fuck did you just say?”

It's been 3 days;

She went missing at MIA

No connection to jfk

No connection at all Munroe, you blind bastard

All the water

All the drugs

All in the wash

It's water under the toenails

(Four fingers up,

But the fourth one lost it)

At the airport

Watching Conan

I over heard you

Turn the phone off

Semi-sync or something,

Semi dysfunction

Chemists hemispheres

All his fears are

In my head

I stand at the front at the edge of the the platform so there's just less temptation to jump

(White Nikes is for chumps)

Everybody is a goddamn DJ these days

Especially on her bday

When she asks for a replay of that remix

Bitch please

I sit alone bc with my phone and my notebook.

By the end of a river

A cold brook

Wrote a whole mother novel

A classy story

For the world gone wrong

You fucking Morin

Fungi up I get more fond l

I stand in the train with my back against the wall

So the shadow markers won't stand behind

And grab me

Fuck man, fuck off

There's a lot of blue here

Must be something to do here

I need new gear

Stuck inside of my l life

Since new years

Whose here?

WHAT THE FUCK MORGIE?

SUNNI!

MORE HEINIKEN!!!!

You CANNOT. Drink with that ankle monitor on.

I know.

So why are you drinking?!

I took the ankle monitor off.

Nogga yo feet is small.

Like smaller than mine.

I been staring at your gut this whole train ride.

How the fuck are you like a 5x

And your feet are a ladies size 6?

The fuck.

You need some help, bro.

I ain't been to the gym in two days

But you got fairy feet

My nigga

My hip bone s apes against the railing;

I've three children, but you'd not know I;

I'm holding in cereal, cleaning out stuff for cereal boxes m,

Audio level

Aux chords polished

Shined as silver,

Hair as Golden,

Still no meadows,

My eyes rest in

My, I'm tired.

Please don't mind me,

Bright blue jumper

Still no meadow

I lay down in

Still no meadow

Hair as golden

Old blue boxers

Boxes

Please don't mind me

Oh, you started it

Oh, you started it

No motion sensors

Already alcoholic,

Still halls

And still water

Oh,

You started it

Oh. You started it

Sure, don't fall out of

Heroin antics,

Sure, don't fall forward,

Only to fall out

Oh. You started it

Damn! Why the devil always gotta stand behind a motherfucker, huh?

Fuckin creepo.

Haven't you decided yet that you are the devil.

I am one and all

And all things, I am

Still in my mind I am,

Never behind,

But always ahead

Always right, and not wit wars

I stand in line for the stairs

The slower the better the more I write

Imm on fast God

Fasting time

I'm on fully automatic

The faster we go

The harder the heroin

The longer we stop for

The harder we party

Off bandwagon

There I go—

(Are I now)

There you are?

Fully automotive

Fully automatic

Fully on the wrong road.

It matters hoping

No more tears for lost stardom

No more neon signs

No halter tops

Shit, I work harder in hell

When I don't have my phone off

Shit, I work harder in hell

When I take all my clothes off.

I couldn't even pretend to give two fucks right now

I'm chained to a train

With another one headed right towards me.

I don't mind what's the line your on

Whose line is it anyway, good line at the equinox

Step over me

Hoarder

I'll say,

Here for all time;

Wherefor art though

Simple and stuck

In my own ways

All day I sat in haides

No semtember

Sick morons

Long, long October

Still started

No water

Two dogs

And a blonde

No show starter.

But There goes all that

All the next understudies

And sure profiles,

Fair weather friends again

—creepy ass inanimate muppets.

Fuck, man.

Somebody stick their fuckin hand up Elmo's ass before I punch him.

Don't punch Elmo.

Who doesn't love Elmo.

I do not.

What did you say your name was?

I didn't.

What did you say is your expertise?

Rhythms.

Mister mister l

NOOOOOOOO.

Some black dude rubbed his whole dick against my wrist on the subway train.

gnarly.

It was warm.

And weird—

Like a fucking

Sleeping cat

Under Egyptian cotton

AGHHHHHHJ.

AOh no.

I THOUGHT MY HAND WENT PARALYZED.

It just siezed up, real crunchy, like—

*chicken foot arm*

I automatically had like the whole thing going on.

The worst part was that it was warm—

And soft//

But HUGE.

I was like

What ANIMAL is that.

I will never.

I could NEVER

I said.

what.

I just got to the point in my life where I realized I wasn't interested in anything.

!but especially

I'm looking for

Sage to burn

I goy money go burn

I got time to earn mi got money to chase

Ain't got money to waste

You've got to admit x

It's a good savings system

—for once, the sauce sounded like symphonies

And wreaked of green peppers, or rather, was fragrant

CHECKPOINT!

I remember this part!

I remember this place

This time

This dance

This song,

Then— everyone does

And everything does, doesn't it?

Show ants the advocate

The advocate of another time

I think I ran here on

What if everything cheaper online

But it's just the adventure you wished for

Have you ever tried to be mad

With squeaky ass shoes on

Seriously

Have you ever tied to like walk away

Or stop away mad

With squeaky ass shoes?

Is that the pub?

I guess.

You guess! Is this the right pub or is it not?

I don't know which pub is the right pub! He just said “Irish pub” you could throw a rock and hit one!

Sometimes it's best,

To just not give

A single fuck at all

At all at all

A single fuck at all.

I don't give a flipping song!

Woah now

i don't give a flap or a stick!

Alright, alright.

Leave me alone to die

I'll melt inside the world

A coin upon a string

Run, girl, run

Of course, of course

It lives again

It'll come again

When the Sunnis down.

I can't wait till the sundown

I can't wait till the world is kind

And the girls are gone

And the birds all hush

And the dogs don't bark

And the sun downt come

Till I'm long long gone and out of it

I'm over her, no more war and art over sodom

And stardom as startuduat

Like I said, you started it

I always did

I didn't want

I only done

To suffer

Suffer more

Will you rot you blossom corpse

The art is done

The art is done!

The water's hot

No wonder white people fucking hate us.

I saw a black dude on the train. Today with his dick in his pocket.

NO, GOD.

WHY!

And he was holding it, too.

I'm like

“What for?!”

Jesus Christ's.

It was in his pocket.

Outlined and everything,

With his fucking grip around it

Like it was a fucking animal.

No!

No!

Man some people are so fuckin wrong

I hate pda.

I fuckin hate it.

The Real versions come across a parallel reality's version of themselves—who by some chance, also happened to cross paths with each other—however—this band of miscreants are HOOLIGANS—unruly lawbreakers who cause chaos, confusion, and trouble to the good people of

Where the fuck is this.

—wherever they are.

Don't come round here!

I will fuck your socks off— and sell them back to you!

The sex was free;

But the socks will cost you.

But—they're my socks.

Were and could be again…for a price.

Goddamn.

Yes, Goddamn indeed.

BROH.

JOHN OLIVER IS MAD BRITISH.

AVADAKAVARAH!

I TOLD YOU, I WAS A WITCH DOCTOR!

WHATEVER! I THOUGHT YOU WERE A LATE NIGHT HOST!

EVERYBODY HAS A DAY JOB.

THAT'S A NIGHT JOB!

EXPECTO-PA–

POTTER!!!

WHAT IN THE [BEEP}! YOU'RE A WIZARD?!

OF COURSE I'M A BLOODY WIZARD–WHAT THE HELL DO I LOOK LIKE TO YOU?!

ANOTHER LATE NIGHT HOST–OR WHATEVER!

“OR WHATEVER” I'M A WIZARD–

HARRY.

What the [bleep]

EVERYBODY HAS A DAY JOB

™

Please, by all means,

Keep your pretty white girlfriend.

I want to see those eyes come through

What a handsome couple.

They are the scariest thing ever.

Let them be, then;

Out to be fun to watch.

I can't listen to Drake on my loud speakers bro.

Not—like loud, man.

That shit makes me feel like a whole ass basic black girl.

True story.

Sometimes you gotta distance yourself from the “yassss” birds.

I saw this one comedian performing—

Well, I think he was a comedian.

He wasn't funny to me but,

He had like 710K followers

And he was really really pretty.

I had to notice that, because as imm listening to him preform, about 30 minutes into the video—

I was waiting to see if he would make me actually laugh—

He didn't—

But—

As I was trying to figure out how he has 710K followers

And has not made me laugh, not once

I start paying closer attention to him—

And I realize;

“Oh”

He is major good looking.

At first I didn't notice—

I like white guys— so,

Of course,

At first glance

I'm like

“Hey brother!”

You know, like

“That's my son!”

I'm like

“Yeah, make me laugh, boy.”

But he didn't

And then as I start to wonder

Like,

Why or how he has so large of a following

I notice he's very beautiful.

And I mean, like mad gorgeous.

Like ideally—

I'm like

“Oh” and as I'm realizing this,

He's saying the punchline to a “joke,”

And as he's saying it, I realize that way in the back,

Like you can hear that they're in the back

Cause the camera is in the center,

And like half of the audience is behind the film crew

, and you can hear these girls are in the way—

Like in the way back

Like in the way, way back,

You can hear like a pack of ratchets—

Yes— these must be his die hards—

His squad.

Not like his homies or anything, but like

The Groupies.

You know.

The hopefuls.

He's got this group of black girls like hackling in the back, like clapping hard at all his punches like

“YAS!”

“SAY IT!”

And it was funny because his reaction to these girls was like

“I'm—not in control of this.”

“RIGHT!”

“SAY LESS!”

I'm like,

Oh, I see how that works, now.

{Enter The Multiverse}

And even I

Just want it to fucking stop

So it can just be over with

Oh why,

Not another fucking lover boy

After all of them

Oh no—

But this one's worse;

Maybe even the worst of all of them

Because as I exit my prison cell,

I find this dude behind bars—

Maybe even happily.

And now I'm out into the world

Supposedly free—

But still trapped with this mentality

As if whatever I had before—

Maybe even possibly the worst, lowest existence

At least for me,

Was somehow

Better

—can anyone tell me why?

Not even God, besides the obvious point that perhaps

The Devil is in the mind;

He likes to arouse,

To play games,

And tricks

And I,

Myself

Perhaps

Have fallen prey,

Not to become victim to this;

But a player in the game.

A pawn.

AND WHY HAS NOBODY DRAWN ON THESE YET,

THEY'VE BEEN UP FOR SEEMINGLY

forever and always

And this nigga has

Not one snaggletooth

No graffiti tettoos

No fucking sharpie lip injections.

Nothing.

Do you remember that story how Johnny Depp hated his face up on a billboard—

So he went rogue and painted over it?

Yeah? So?

What if it's like that.

I don't think it's like that.

—I think it's the opposite of that, actually.

And if anything—

If I see not a one defacing of these posters

And they are everywhere

If anything,

Jimmy Fallon is the guy

With a spray bottle of acetone

And a fucking microfiber rag

Wiping that shit off

In his free time

WHAT FREE TIME?

You tell me.

But first—

Somebody—

Anybody tell me

Why this happened.

At all.

Anybody?

Somebody.

C'mon.

{Enter The Multiverse}

If you'll excuse me, I actually have to get going.

Where are you going?

I don't know:

I just—

JOHNNY DEPP must be going.

Have to.

he does not know, however, that he is stuck in a movie—which has no definitive ending.

Well actually,

This movie has like—

30 alternative endings

Wait, 30 alternative endings?

30-40

Woah.

That's nuts.

Which makes it even cooler.

If you ever blow my mind again like that,

I'll actually kill you.

I've been watching a lot of LMN

Lifetime movie network—Why?!

Because this shit is hilarious!